Small Magic
by Chellybaby
Summary: When there's nothing to keep you in the real world, where do you go? For the great-grandaughter of Wendy Darling, there is only one answer. But, as always, nothing is ever as it seems where Neverland is concerned.
1. The Girl Named Amelia Rose

**Small Magic**

**Dedicated to my family and all of my friends, FF and everyday; imaginary and otherwise. This has a mixture of references from the book, live action movie and animation, but you'll have to figure all that out for yourself ;)**

**Disclaimer: unfortunately, I do not own Peter Pan, and never will.**

–

_**-The Girl Named Amelia Rose-**_

It is a commonly known fact that young children, unlike adults, have the uncanny ability to forget the wrongs of others. It is an amazing ability, because though it disappears over time, the years in which the child has this ability are the years when they are most innocent. A ten-year-old teeters on the brink of oncoming adolescence, but can still be ignorant of reality. A ten-year-old can wrongs so easily. Small wrongs perhaps, but wrongs that- in the eyes of an adult, and magnified to adult proportions –have needlessly lead to countless conflicts; hundreds of thousands of deaths that could have been prevented, had the factions been able to forgive each other and move on. But for adults, that is not the way things work.

-

The body curled on the sill rocked gently, as though by the wind. Peter vaguely recalled this window from long ago. But something was different. The hair falling over the figure's shoulder was too fair, too long to be _hers_. Wendy Darling's hair had not been illuminated to a pale gold in the glow of the lamplight by the window. Her hair had been shorter, closer to brown than gold, and it had been dark that night. Peter tipped his head and scratched his own mop of presently dirty fair hair. He didn't even know why he was here, specifically, let alone how he had got there. The girl let out a tiny sigh, and curled tighter into herself as a soft breeze tugged at the long curtains on their rails. She might have been reading, or even napping, what with her face resting lightly on the wall, the looseness of her shoulders and the soundless, slight breathing. Peter considered going closer, but something stopped him. That something splashed onto the book the girl was holding. Peter immediately hovered backwards.

Then the girl looked up.

Peter's sight went dark at that moment, and the whistling wind that had wound its way around the brick houses became fainter… closer. His eyelids opened. Above him was a small hollow, bright with a merry flame. After a few seconds he realised he was struggling to recall the dream at all, and made do with rolling onto his front and peering over the shelf where he slept. From a sizeable hole within a hidden crevice of the tree, moonlight flooded over the slumbering Lost Boys. Tootles, Curly, Nibs and Slightly lay at one end of the bed, hidden beneath a swathe of furry blanket, while Cubby, Marmaduke and Binky lay at the opposite. Curly's quiet snoring stirred, snorted, then resumed. A tiny smile crept onto Peter's lips as he turned back to the wall, though he would never remember why.

-

I had been in the middle of a dream before the sound jerked me from wonderful unreality.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

My eyes opened and instinctively turned to the clock on the opposite wall. I could barely make out the faint _2.13am _on the wall. Not even close to dawn. My lips parted in a wide yawn, and I rubbed my eyes. What could be knocking at this hour? Dragging myself from the protective shelter of my bed, I pushed back the curtains at the window and winced. Now all my sensitive eyes acknowledged was the rapid blinks of blue of a vehicle on the street, directly below my window. Even through the falling snow, it was viciously bright. My sleep-addled mind briefly wondered why they were on when the vehicle wasn't moving. The sound came again, louder this time. _Thud thud thud_. My stomach gave a lurch of apprehension. The sound of a fist beating on the front door echoed in the silence like the solemn toll of a bell. I heard a quiet expletive and the creak of a door as my stepfather, too, awoke. He took to the stairs, murmuring something to himself. It didn't sound pleasant. I followed suite, but lingered on the stairs when he gave me a disproving glance. There was a click and the sound of scraping metal, then cold air burst into the house, freezing my toes. The policeman's expression froze my heart to match. He sombrely took off his hat and said, "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

That was the sound of my world crashing down.

"_Ms Margaret Lewis was in a car accident a few hours ago. Her vehicle slipped on a patch of ice near the Thames Bridge and went out of control. She was declared dead on impact. I'm so sorry."_

I had felt sadness like this before. That was when father had died. Yet then I'd been only six years old. Eight more years made all the difference. Clinking bottles resounded from the room below. Poor Jasper. We'd never been that close, but I'd wanted mother to be happy. But had she really ever been the same after dad died? No. Thomas Brookes and Margaret Wendy Darling were the Romeo and Juliet of their time; it was inevitable that they would never love another in the same way.

"Sorry, Jasper," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I know you loved her. But she's always loved dad more than she could ever love you. Now they're together, and you're alone."

I wasn't sure who I was talking to now. The word _orphan_ pricked at me. My eyes stung as I rubbed the salty tears away and slid onto the sill of my window, clutching a leather-bound book to my chest.

Mother had always told me the same story, ever since I was a tiny child. _"Peter Pan visited your grandma, Wendy, long ago. He taught her to be a child… and a mother." _My mother was an extraordinary storyteller. Simple stories that were otherwise mundane could be turned into adventures that enchanted and enraptured the hearts of everyone through her lips- that was how she met my father. Mother had been telling stories to her friends at a park one spring day. Father had overheard, sat on the bench behind and listened until the whole story was finished, when he said hello and asked her what her name was. It blossomed from there. She was the one who spoke of dreams filled with colour, adventure and the handsome boy named Peter Pan. No one had wrote them down; they had simply been passed down from Wendy to Jane, to mother, and then to me. Perhaps being part of them had made them too vivid to capture in writing.

Leaning my head against the wall and curling my legs up beside me, I lay the book gently on my lap. It was no kept secret that Grandma Wendy had fallen in love with Peter Pan. Grandma Jane never knew this, but as a child my mother had been more curious as to why she had ever chosen to leave. Wendy, with a sad smile, had told my ten-year-old mother why.

"_When the person you love will never love you back, you soon realise that you can't bear to be near them any more."_

That is when she went home and became a grown-up. Even Grandma Jane never knew until mother mentioned it, long after Grandma Wendy had passed away. I tried to imagine the face that so often evaded my thoughts. What had she looked like? What did her voice sound like? Was I anything like her?

I fixed my eyes on the golden engraving on the front plate of the book. It was the diary handed down from Grandma Wendy, from even before she had met Peter. The yellowed pages were amiable to me now. The name _Wendy Moira Angela Darling_ shimmered, and something fell with a tiny splash. The tears collected and rolled across the cover, clinging to the corner. I blinked the last one away, and when I looked again, the surface twinkled with what looked like tiny diamonds. I was too numb with emotion to notice the freezing air blowing in, but I could feel the stiffness from my slouched position. Sitting up marginally straighter, I lifted my head to the always-glorious night sky: deep, midnight blue with a sprinkling of icing-sugar snow and the faint twinkle of stars.

"Second to the right and straight on 'til morning…" My voice was carried away with the wind.

–

**Hey everyone! This is my newest (and only) fanfic up at the moment. It's a special dedication to my friend CullensGrl, because it was her gorgeous fanfiction that inspired me to write this. I have a really bad habit of losing concentration on my writing, so please review as it feeds my drive! ^_^**

**Cookies and good stuff to y'all if you review,**

**~chellybaby xo**


	2. Morning in Neverland

**Hello everyone, Chellybaby here. Thank you to the few that subscribed to this story. I'm very thankful for that. Now, please read on and enjoy!**

–

**_-Morning in Neverland-_ **

Peter's stirred at the first touch of sunlight on the home-tree, as he always did. It took only a few seconds for him to rouse himself sufficiently to float up from his bed. Stretching out mid-air, he yawned once before running his hand through his hair, grabbing belt and dagger and slotting them in place. There was no time to waste sleeping in at dawn, for it was when Neverland was most awake.

Morning in Neverland was always spectacular; forest covered so much of the island that when the first beams of sunlight hit the millions of leaves, vivid light shone onto the forest floor in a million shades of green. Scented candle-flowers' waxy petals opened at the exact moment the sun hit Mermaid Lagoon from over the waterfall, creating rainbows and a sweet aroma that spread through the entire Lost Wood. It was only this kind of morning that persuaded Peter to go out to collect breakfast. He never went out if the sun wasn't out, not for breakfast. On the days when the Lost Boys went to collect, Peter would stay in to practice sword fighting, or go out and talk to the mermaids, or play alone for a while in Treasure Cove, just beyond the Lagoon. Anyhow, Peter always made sure that his breakfasts were the best; the ripest, juiciest fruits, fresh water from the top of the stream and the freshest bread from Breadfruit Valley. Tinkerbell understood this concept, so she never dusted up the boys until breakfast was over. She would never rise so early, regardless.

Throwing all of the fruit into assorted misshapen bowls, Peter filched the large blanket covering the boys and woke them with his signature crow. When they groaned and turned over, he smugly revealed a plateful of bread chunks and the fruit. The effect was immediate. They pushed and shoved each other to get to their stools while Peter hovered above, reclining on a cushion of air and munching on the shiniest red apple of all. His imagination soared as fruit and bread flew in all directions. Despite this, none of it would be left over.

All but one of them were tanned from time in the sun, and none were over the age of twelve- except Peter, though he tended to forget his thirteen years more often that not. While he, Curly (a red and predictably curly-haired boy), and Slightly (a pale, contrastingly black-haired and blue-eyed boy) had lost the prominent tummies of childhood, they had not yet entered the phase of adolescence and sat somewhere on the front line of childhood.  
"Apples, anyone?"  
Nibs's caramel-coloured hair and big green eyes made him a very pretty little boy, and he was often teased by the others. Tinkerbell, and even the mermaids- the unkindest creatures one could ever have the misfortune to meet- had a hard time being callous towards him as his nature was one that was impossible to dislike.

"Strawberries! I want some strawberries!" Cubby- the smallest boy- cried, standing on his chair and leaning dangerously across the table. He tried to shake a shock of dark hair out of his eyes and tottered. Curly caught him and stuffed a large berry into the boy's mouth, while the others laughed and sneakily stole from each other's bowls.

"Stop!" Peter commanded suddenly, dropping onto the little space visible on the table. Something fell to the floor; a groan spread around the room.

"But what about the bread, Peter?" the food-conscious Marmaduke and Binky began, bowing their equally ginger heads and staring, open-mouthed, at the mess of crumbs on the floor. Being the only set of twins, they were required to look the same at all times: they mostly wore long shorts made of a light fur, with strips across their chest that crossed down to their hips. These would hold identical bows and arrows. With their complaint echoed by the other boys, they opened their mouths again, only to be interrupted.  
"Be quiet!"  
The room fell silent, except for Peter, who nonchalantly jumped from the table and replaced the now chipped plate. "See? All better." He dusted off the last piece of bread and hovered above the boys, a smile spreading across his face. "Now, who wants to know what we're going to do today?"  
With the bread ordeal forgotten, everyone jumped onto their chairs and shouted, "What? What? Tell us, Peter!"

Flicking a curl out of his eyes and grinning out at the Lost Boys, Peter went higher.  
"Tinkerbell! Let's dust up!"  
A tinkling, like the ringing of a tiny glass bell, announced Tinkerbell emerging from the petal curtains of her 'room'- a whorl in the wood of the tree that Peter had dug out long ago and left the fairy to furnish according to her wishes. Being the only form of a woman most of the Lost Boys had seen for a long time, she both intrigued and slightly scared the Lost Boys. Her nature when Peter was not present had made the mermaids wary many a time. Tinkerbell yawned prettily and flew above the boys, making a shower of gold sparkles fall languidly from her gossamer-fine wings. Bringing with it a few sneezes, the dust brought a familiar warm shiver, then the floating sensation in their chests. When the dusting was done, Tinkerbell flew up to Peter and yawned again.

"Right, Lost Boys!" Peter flew out of the leafy opening of the home-tree and into the glare of the sun, shortly joined by the others, who were now fully attired, each with their own sword or bow. His shadow made a giant Peter on the wall. It distracted him for a few moments, before he bared his teeth again. "We're going to go to the top of the mountain, get some of those bright flowers-"  
"-Dazzle Flowers?" Slightly offered. Peter glanced at him.  
"We're going to go to the top of the mountain, get some Dazzle Flowers, and make some paint-" He was cut off by the cheering and loop-the-looping and a jovial clash of swords. "Wait! It gets even better." Seven pairs of eyes looked up expectantly. "I have a plan. And it involves Hook's ship and some paintbrushes…"

-

Some children might have thought that going to school was on the bottom of their list of priorities after becoming an orphan overnight, but I made the mistake of thinking that it would distract me. I had found it tolerable until the last lesson of the day. English was usually my favourite class, but that day it was my worst enemy, as the objective was the very one I'd wanted to ignore.

"Everyone, please write a detailed description of a person. It doesn't have to be realistic, but try to make it as convincing as possible." Mrs. Barnes looked fleetingly over all our heads, before settling behind her desk and picking up a pen to complete her own paperwork. Similarly, the rest of the class reached for their pens and settled calmly to their books, not pushing their luck on such an easy task. My book was at home, where it had remained since the last time I had English. Packing had hardly seemed a priority this morning. I breathed in the cold, dusty air, and tried to hide myself in my painfully scarlet jumper. I had a piece of rough paper with notes around the edge in front of me, though that was certainly not appropriate for a full task. As for the description itself… The only remaining person in my family portrait was me. The snow had not settled overnight, but even now the sprinkling had turned into an impertinent blanket of white, taunting me from outside. I hated it. Putting a stiff hand to the paper, my fingers gripped a pencil so hard that the paper tore. The visualization was painfully clear in my head. It flowed onto the paper as easily as ink to water.  
"Amelia, you haven't written anything!" My table-neighbour peered over my shoulder half an hour later, her eyes wide as saucers. Amelia Darling _always _did her work.

"I know," I said in monotone. "But I don't feel like it right now."  
"But…" she shifted in her seat. "You're going to get into trouble…"  
I sighed, putting the pencil down to reach for a softer one. I could feel her gaze for a few long seconds, before the scratch of her pen picked up again.

As the class progressed, an orchestra of tapping pencils, feet and fingers filled the room. I took my time forming the figure and finished putting the sparkle in the eyes just as the bell rang. Perhaps it was luck that made Mrs. Barnes not notice that I handed nothing to her. The windows rattled with the screech of chairs being pushed back. Then paper rustled all around, footsteps rumbled, children laughed, and all of this was irrelevant as my drawing of mother smiled and beckoned me to a shimmering door that my hand had not created.  
-

Marmaduke and Binky were the first to get in the water- or, more accurately, to drench the others with a twin-powered water bomb. Next came Curly, then a drowsy and water-fearing Cubby, then Slightly, Tootles, Nibs… Peter was somewhere in the shadows of the forest, retrieving the woollen blankets for after their baths. Normally he would be first in the spring, so he hadn't been happy at having to go back to the tree. He'd been feeling annoyed anyway as none of the pirates had been in the Jolly Roger, and he was tired from having taken one entire side of the ship for himself. He floated above the breakfast table and turned slowly around. The long, single ridge of wood where breakfast was arranged was clean (or, as clean as the boys could be bothered to make it). All… well, most of the bowls were put away. The blanket had been replaced on the bed and sprinkled with fairy dust, so it was clean. So why did something feel wrong? Peter frowned for a second, then shrugged and slipped out of the tree with the pile of blankets, humming tunelessly.

Earthy air filled Peter's lungs as he flew at top speed northwards. Dropping them on the large slab of hot rock called the Blue Boulder, he crept up behind an idle Tinkerbell.  
"Boo!"  
The fairy jumped up, tottered backwards and twirled over in the air, falling to within an inch of the stone ground. Enthusiasm restored, Peter leapt from her tiny swat and ran to the edge of the steaming pool. The leafy vines holding his sword and dagger lost their grip, and the weapons clattered onto the stony surface outside the spring. He hovered ten feet above the deepest part of the pool and crowed to the others. The twins continued to play water-tag. As everyone was so tired, and because of how thick the steam was, only Nibs watched for the giant splash that would be Peter. A spherical object bounced across the rock outside the pool. Curly cursed and got out to retrieve it. Nibs felt a movement on the water, then something heavy, followed by an impressive splash and a wave that crashed up the sides of the spring. Promptly, he started to clap.

"What was that?" A blonde head appeared, upside down. "Who jumped?"

–

**So, what did you think? Here's where you push the button below and tell me :3 Personally, I really liked this chapter. My new target is to go easy on semi-colons (though you wouldn't know this as my lovely friend and beta-reader CullensGrl corrected it for me!)**

**Hugs to you all,**

**~chellybaby xo**


	3. The Paper Door

**Hello, my lovelies. **

**My visitor traffic was spectacular! :o Thank to y'all who read the past two chapters. Cookies and chocolates to you all! Now, this time… some more reviews please? If you story alert me, thank you very very much, but if you review you get extra hugs :D**

–

_**-The Paper Door-**_

Peter righted himself and circled the place that the splash had come from. He'd thought it was Curly at first, but the red-haired boy wasn't even in the water. As the rapidly curling billows of steam righted to their usual lazy swirls, Nibs leaned forwards on the edge of the drop-off, squinting into the water.

"Peter? What was the splash?" the smaller boy asked.

"I don't know. It was in there," he replied, pointing.

The spring was set on two levels; the shallower edge only just came up to his chest, and it reached Nibs' chin. The deeper one was a vertical drop that went straight down to three times Peter's height (he'd measured it himself).

"Lost Boys!" he shouted, flying high up, where he settled on a narrow fruit tree branch dangling precariously over the pool. It groaned and bent under his weight. "Who jumped?"

The twins looked at each other.

"Jumped?" they asked in unison. "Wasn't that you? Curly?"

"Nope," Curly called from the Blue Boulder, still holding the squashy ball. "I'm all the way over here. Slightly?"

"Not me."

Tootles shook his head under their questioning gaze.

"Hmm," Peter said, flying around in a slow circle. Now even Tinkerbell had looked over to see what the commotion was about.

"If it wasn't you, then who was it?"

"Who was it?"

"Peter?"

Peter hovered above the pool, then slipped in surprise. His toes skimmed the bubbling water, where a brown door was slowly sinking beneath the surface. Not even hesitating, he smoothly dove in, kicking as hard as he could. He was doing fine until he was an arm's breadth away from the handle. Then the door opened. Peter had never felt anything like it. It was as though he was being squeezed through a narrow rubber tube with a riverful of hot water. His lungs were full of it. All he could see was a strange red glow. It got brighter, then faded, flashed white, bubbled. He landed with a splashy thump on his back, arm still outstretched, in a cold room with lots of tables and pictures on the walls. For a few seconds he lay there, eyes wide. Then he took a rasping breath, and coughed up what felt like an ocean.

-

Despite the very real and unpleasant feeling of freezing cold, damp material, I thought that I was dreaming. A boy, sparsely dressed in a pair of light brown shorts, had erupted from the door on the paper in a fountain of steaming water- now it was cold, and December had greedily infiltrated the previously warm fleece of my school jumper. An inch of water covered the entire classroom floor, and my shoes squelched as I ducked down. The boy was coughing up an unhealthy amount of water and his bare skin was already prickling with goose bumps. As I took a step closer, he rolled onto his stomach and from beneath a thick mop of hair, spoke.

"Who are you?" He shook his head wildly. Water flew in all directions and his hair became pinned to the sides of his head, revealing a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Oh my," I marvelled.

"Oh my?" A cheeky smile appeared. "What an odd name. _My _name is Peter Pan." As easily as breathing, he hovered from the floor until he was level with my face, where he studied it, almost hungrily. "Wait, girl!" He exclaimed loudly, whizzing backwards and forwards again, excitement lighting his eyes. "I think I've seen you before seen you before."

I decided that this was most definitely a dream. I must have fallen asleep at my desk.

"You have?"

The boy nodded energetically, before stopping, and frowning.

"I can't remember…" Peter narrowed his eyes. "But I remember your hair. Fair hair, like mine." He straightened a curl that had escaped from my braid and let it spring back. Then his eyes slid past me to a wooden puzzle lying half-finished on a nearby display table.

"Peter, you can't remember what?"

He slotted one piece of wood into another, then turned it over and repeated the action, entranced.

"I can't remember Wendy… or Jane…" Drifting back into the air, Peter did an experimental loop-the-loop. This was not a good idea in a classroom full of desks; his legs hit one close by and he nearly went through the window.

"Oh my," he said, glancing despairingly at the walls as though they might be closing in, "there's no space to play in here!"

"Of course not," I responded, though personally I found the classroom too big for my liking. An inadvertent smile crept onto my lips. "It's school. We don't play here, we learn. Everyone does."

Peter frowned.

"I've never done that."

"Then how do you read and write?" I enquired.

"I… I just know how to," he said after a pause.

At first I thought he might be joking, but when he didn't smile I just shook my head. He surprised me by coming forward and taking my hand. "Are you _sure _that we haven't met?" His certainty was making me wonder, but what I was sure of was that if my face wasn't red from cold, it had flushed from his intense gaze. His hand felt curiously real for the confidence I had in the whole scene being in my imagination.

"If you could remember you'd know who I am," I whispered. I lifted my chin. "My mother is…"

The words didn't come out. My eyes stung before I remembered why, then the immense happiness I was feeling was extinguished like a candle flame under a waterfall. My numb fingers gripped his of their own accord. Peter looked down at our entwined hands and then up again. If I was dreaming, it wouldn't matter what I said, silly as it was.

"Take me to Neverland."

Silence hung in the air. Peter stared for what felt like an eternity, until I was doubtful that the words had even come from my mouth. I was half-expecting to wake up when his face split into a handsome smile. Leaning close, he retrieved my hand. Warmth spread up my arm from the contact. I expected that he'd pull me to the window, and that I'd numbly feel the snow and wind, before waking up with a jolt, but no; the blonde-haired boy was already kneeling on the floor.

"I came through this door," he said, leaning towards the drawing, "so we should be able to go back through it." His voice was so sure, so positive. It was the first voice I'd heard today that calmed my inner turmoil. The pencil of the drawing had smudged under the torrent of water and was floating on the surface of the pool that was the classroom floor. Mother stood stiffly next to it, smiling mechanically out at me with a ruined face. I quickly looked away. "Oh my…" Peter tugged my arm and pulled me down so my face as an inch from the drawing, compelling my eyes downwards again. The hand holding my own tightened- or maybe it was the other way around. I couldn't tell. My concentration was sapped as, slowly, the door opened, revealing the blue shimmer that had been there before.

Peter breathed in sharply, but before I could wonder why, I was engulfed in hot liquid. Water crushed me on all sides. I was clinging to something warm. My head began to spin; the air in my lungs was running out. I clamped my lips together and squeezed my eyes shut. Spinning, turning, then a loud smack, like the slamming of a door- my brain screamed for oxygen- bubbles gushed from my mouth… and everything turned black.

–

**Another cliffie! :o I'm evil, I know :D  
This is a pretty short chapter, but I'm fond of it nevertheless… I don't think Amelia or Peter really believe they've met yet… ahem. Review please! Love you all, my wonderful readers xoxoxoxo**

**~chellybaby ^_^**


	4. Wish Upon a Star

**Hi! Well, this is quite a long chapter. I hope you enjoy it.... Please review if you liked it. :)**

–

**-**_**Wish Upon a Star-**_

Peter's first instinct when he saw the ground coming closer was to jump, but before he could think of a way to do so, dirt was in his mouth, a crack resounded on the rock plateau and the breath had been knocked out of him by some unidentifiable object from above. He lay there, stunned and winded. Something that might have been a leaf fluttered down from the darkened sky, tucking itself into the protective arms of the canopy.

"Peter?" A small figure splashed out of the steam and stumbled over to him. "What ha…" Nibs' jaw fell slack. Peter struggled under the dead weight of the second figure on his legs, scrabbling get from underneath it. Curly, who still hadn't got back into the pool, grabbed Peter's hand and heaved. The older boy winced as his wrist twisted, but it caused him to slide forward from the rock to the slippery mud. He leapt into the air. The water of the spring was once again clear; there was no sign of the door or the picture of the pretty woman. The form that had landed on Peter's back remained unmoving on the ground, head set on the rock layer that lined the pond and fair curls splayed across the dirt. Coughing, Peter stretched his arms above his head, then looked down and yelled at Curly, who'd gone forward to touch its arm.

"Oh," Curly murmured, for once taking no notice, "how strange." A hand slapped his from the creature's arm and he was replaced by an ever so slightly shorter Peter. The blonde boy knelt down and gently pushed the damp hair from the girl's face, subsequently looking up into the curious faces of the boys.

"I found her in a school."

Slightly took a step back, his already pale skin turning even whiter.

"School?" Tootles frowned. "How odd. Why would anyone want to go there?"

"All that work," the twins agreed, not a trace of their usual humour on their faces, though truthfully they had no memory of such a place.

Peter floated up into the air. He needed to clear his head of all the voices and people and memories. Maybe he'd go and spy on Captain Hook, or talk to the mermaids… The girl's hazel eyes as she gripped his hand and asked him to bring her here flashed in his mind. Perhaps not that far. He wove nimbly through the forest, not looking but knowing instinctively where the branches spread their leafy tendrils; where the shadows lurked, until he came to the home-tree. From the topmost branch he could see all the way across to the far bay, where a ship cast a black shadow over the luminescent water. Violent light streamed from the windows, and Peter could just make out figures moving behind the frosted glass. He wondered whether the crew had yet removed the paint. Though he'd probably have heard if Hook had seen it. He grinned.

With Peter's absence, most of the others tentatively ventured closer to the girl. Curly, however, did this almost defiantly, crouching down next to the stranger's head and tucking all of the long hair behind them.

"It's a girl," he stated to the others.

"Is she sleeping?"

"Peter didn't say," Tootles replied, "it looks like it, though."

"Shouldn't we wake her up? It's bedtime soon."

"But… she's already asleep…" Slightly spoke, while everyone just stood, sat or crouched and wondered what they should do.

"Hm. Maybe… maybe if we wake her up we can…" Curly began, scratching his mop of red hair and cursorily checking for a glimpse of blonde in the trees.

"Cubby, I don't think sitting on her is going to help…" Tootles added, tugging the younger boy's arm. Being tired as Cubby presently was, his feet caught as he stood and he toppled over, promptly starting to cry.

"It's bleeding, it's bleeding!" the twins chanted. Curly took a step back, his face an interesting shade of green.

One of the twins suddenly stepped forward and knelt down. Unsure of whether this was Binky or Marmaduke, and of what he was doing, the others observed. Somewhat nervously, he quickly jabbed the girl's chest, looking back at the others for some explanation as to what was there. None of them had anything like _that._ No reply came, except for a crowing that could only mean one thing.

"What are you doing, twin?" Peter questioned, swooping down and sitting on the other side of the girl, opposite the Lost Boys and the spring. Binky pointed to her chest.

"What is it?"

Peter blinked.

"Well…" he started, but didn't finish.

"We were thinking we should wake her up…" Curly trailed off as a flood of water poured from above like a waterfall, hitting the ground with a sound like flint on flint. There was a choking, gasping sound, and a ninth pair of eyes joined those of the eight boys.

"Tink," Peter said in a low voice. Tinkerbell hovered above, brushing off her tiny hands with a smirk.

Everyone just stared at the stranger as she slowly sat up, water spouting from her mouth, and leaned weakly on her arms. Peter grinned.

"Oh my, meet the Lost Boys," he said, jumping up in excitement. "Lost Boys, Oh My, Oh My, Lost Boys."

"Oh my?" The girl looked up with a frown. Her eyes flicked from face to face, passing awkwardly over the naked seven and pausing on the only one that bore clothing. "Who are you? Why are you calling me that? Where on Earth am I?"

Peter's smile faltered.

"Don't you remember what just happened?" he blurted, receiving an odd look in reply.

"You're in Neverland," Cubby said, bravely wiping away the rest of the tears.

"What?"

"Neverland," Peter repeated. Amelia stared. Then her face paled, and her curious hazel eyes flicked from face to face in disbelief.

"I'm in _Neverland?"_

"Yes, yes," the twins sang, jumping to their feet, followed by a pained squeal as Cubby was reminded unpleasantly of his injury. He immediately sat again, tears collecting in his eyes. Amelia stood up and focused on Peter.

"It's really you," she said, astonished. "Wendy was right."

Peter took in her awed face and grinned.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Amelia Rose Darling," she said, her voice somewhat stronger now. "And you, you must be Peter Pan." She smiled, and Peter's heart leapt.

He snatched Amelia's hand and zoomed into the air, yelling 'dust up for home' without a second glance, leaving a disgruntled fairy and seven speechless boys behind. The barest second of time had passed -a flash of skin between the leaves- then they were at the entrance of the home-tree and Peter couldn't keep still from unexplainable euphoria. "This is the tree, my bed, the table, the cabin, the shelves, the vines…" he continued to point everything out without realising that Amelia had settled onto the furry cover of the Lost Boys' bed. "And the bowls, Tink's room, the drinking spring is through the trees over..." he trailed off as he heard a sniffling sound.

-

I couldn't help the tears from spilling over and everywhere. Triumph was running through my veins like electricity, a feeling I'd wanted for so long, but I couldn't place the hurt I felt somewhere in my chest. Why was I ruining everything? The reason why I was crying evaded me. A splintering pain was running across from the right side of my head down to my jaw; I was unsure of what had happened but I couldn't only guess that I had hit it on the rock- for what reason, I didn't know, but the only image imprinted in my mind was a strange blue light and a clinking sound. I felt a weight next to me and leaned in, until my head rested on the tanned shoulder of Peter Pan. Wiping the strange tears away, I looked up and couldn't help but appreciate the youthful beauty of his face. Tousled blonde hair fell softly to his ears, and his eyes were a piercingly bright azure, blue as the clearest ocean.

"Don't cry," he whispered, lowering his head until he was bowed, his eyes barely meeting mine. His face screwed up in what looked like pain. I muffled my tears and soon, I forced them to stop completely. The unfamiliar despair went away with them. Deep fascination took its place.

"Wow!"

The tree was almost impossibly large from what appeared to be a normal-sized tree from the outside, and if I hadn't known better I'd have assumed it would be dead by now. With its trunk hollowed through the entire diameter of the tree, there was nothing for it to survive on- but then, how did the trees grow here?

"This is Neverland," Peter interrupted my thoughts, and I jumped. He was looking at me strangely, as though something had just occurred to him that he couldn't place.

"Yes. I know now."

Had Peter come to get me? The question lingered somewhere in my mind, unnervingly close to the piece of hurt trapped there. I breathed deeply, feeling the cool air soothing my sore head. Though one might have thought the air inside the tree would be stagnant, and smell of dirt, sweat and rot, the air was fresh and pleasantly scented with something akin to pine and freshly cut grass. From the rough and in some cases crooked furnishing, particularly the table with and extra slab of wood beneath one leg, the boys had made a home out of nothing but materials provided by the tree itself. The bed itself was huge- bigger than three of my own side-by-side- filled with something soft, like feathers or wool, and covered with a fur so light that it might have been silk, only thicker and softer. This was to the left side of the entrance, while a large gap filled with swathes of ivy and leaves, that wound its way outside the tree and fell in a curtain over the doorway. Stacks of bowls towered haphazardly in the right corner, adjacent to the table.

"Amazing," I eventually murmured. Peter, who had left my side to rummage through a chest positioned at the end of the bed, did not reply. Out came another of the furs, and something white that I couldn't make out in the dim light of the lantern high above. The blanket was thicker than the others, and a deep, ruby red in colour. It was passed to me as though it were an everyday exchange of washing.

"Amelia, here," Peter took my hand and tugged me past a tiny swathe of pink petals. Tinkerbell's room, maybe. To the right of the enormous wooden structure of the Lost Boys' bed was one that was smaller, higher; two steps led up from the base of the tree, and moonlight touched the layer of the soft material lying atop the wood. I clutched my blanket.

"Was this Wendy's bed?" I heard myself asking. For a split-second, Peter's face became still as stone.

"Maybe. I can't remember," he repeated, floating above the bed then dropping onto it with a grin. "It's comfortable. Sleep well, Amelia Rose Darling," he smiled a weary smile, flying above me to his own shelf above the door, where soon seven naked figures with very dirty feet tottered into the room. They were closely followed by an orb of light that vanished behind the curtain of petals. Barely acknowledging me, the Lost Boys each dove into the chest, tugged on a pair of shorts each and collapsed onto the bed, with an adorable, green-eyed and caramel-haired boy smiling sleepily at me before he pulled a twine rope. The lantern above went out. I could already hear a gentle snoozing sound from beneath the furs. Fatigue washed over me almost forcefully, but it brought with it a numbness which alleviated the burning of my head.

I climbed onto the bed and found a strange white garment- a nightdress- and an image of a pretty, golden-haired child flashed in my mind's eye. Too tired to linger on the image, I removed the still damp shirt and skirt, briefly wondering why I was in my school uniform, and slid into the white cotton. It was too short, but the hazy clouds of sleep rendered that insignificant. Moonlight brushing through translucent leaves at night was so beautiful. A single star smiled at me from between the leaves. I only wished I hadn't left mother at home without saying goodbye. The last time I saw her I'd been in a rush to get to school, and I'd only had time to wave to her as she drove away. I wondered if the forecasted snow had started to fall yet. My head throbbed. The star blurred and lost its brilliance behind the closed lids of my eyes. _Mother… If only I'd said goodbye…_

–

_**So, did you figure it out? ^_^**_

**Now. Click + type review = Happy Chellybaby + more chapters. You don't need an account, so go for it. Until next time, **

**~cb xo**


	5. Luminescence

**Long time no see! Sorry for not updating- I was writing my pitiful attempt at a NaNoWriMo entry (plus coursework, as always) and it took up a large amount of my time. This chapter is extra long to make up for it :D (A lot of it is Amelia's POV :D) Enjoy and please leave feedback! **

–

"_You won't forget me, will you?" _

"_Never."_

-

"Twin, move! I want to see her!"

"Curly, you've already got the most space! _You_ move!"

"Do be quiet, you'll wake the lady," Nibs whispered.

"I'm hungry!" Cubby bellowed, stamping his foot on the stool perched next to the wall that guarded the second room. A curly blonde head poked inside the tree just as Cubby shrieked and toppled from the stool, tumbling into the twins, who knocked over Slightly, who fell into Curly.

"Watch it, Cubby!"

A stirring sound drew silence, and Peter quickly dropped the breakfast on the table. Holding his usual red apple, he hovered over Amelia. She sighed and resumed soft breathing.

"The grand breakfast is served," Peter said, making towards the table again.

"Peter?"

Amelia sat up, and rubbed her head, which had a nasty bruise stretching from the left side of her head to her cheekbone. Peter grinned wolfishly, grabbed her hand and wrenched her from the bed before she could finish yawning.

"You can choose first…" Peter began, but his hand had crept to a bunch of what looked to be very small orange grapes- Sunberries, as he liked to call them. He put one, just one, in his mouth, and his eyes shone. While he was distracted, Amelia looked back at the awestruck boys, and took a small, clumsily carved bowl from the stack on the edge of the table. Cubby, who now had a red mark appearing on his forehead from the fall, suddenly hugged her around the middle.

"Huh?" Amelia exclaimed, taking a step back, pulling the child with her. Moments later, Nibs, the twins, and then the older boys followed suit- she was covered in embraces.

"Pretty lady-"

"Amelia," she corrected. The boys gazed at her with rapt expressions. Amelia slowly ate a couple of berries, then reached for an apple. She raised it to her mouth, then sighed and put it down again. "It's rude to stare," she berated, and the boys immediately looked down, ashamed. The thought that had been lingering in Peter's mind since he set eyes on her burst from his mouth.

"You shall be their mother!" he announced, jumping to the ground and putting his hands on his hips. A second later, however, he flew back up again with a mildly disgruntled expression; Amelia was taller than him. A _girl _was taller than him. The Lost Boys just hugged her harder and cheered, oblivious to the growing discomfort on her face. Peter, however, saw her expression; his happiness deflated at the same time as she firmly gave her verdict: "No. I won't be your mother."

Peter's stare tinged Amelia's face with a flush of red, and she tried to ignore the blue gaze. Undoing the frozen knot of arms around her she sat down on one of the stools, picking up the apple she had dropped with a trembling hand.

"Why, Amelia? Why not?" the Lost Boys begged.

"Please," Nibs touched her hand. A lady was always a mother. Amelia had to be their mother. A mother would give them another memory of a voice and the colour of that nursery they could never remember. Peter told stories that he collected from mothers all the time. If a mother could tell such stories, they wanted a mother.

"I am not ready to be a mother," Amelia sighed, then cheerfully smiled as she came to a resolution. "I will be a guardian instead."

Blank faces stared at her.

"What's a garnian?" Cubby asked, tugging at her sleeve.

Amelia's smile widened into a radiant grin.

"A guardian looks after people, but doesn't have to be a mother. I'll be your guardian."

The boys all looked at each other uncertainly.

"Amelia?" Peter spoke up, frowning. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but he had a feeling he wouldn't like it. "Don't you know where the Lost Boys come from? They are all babies that fell from their prams and were lost for seven days. Babies never remember anything," he added, in case she didn't understand. Finally it dawned on her. Amelia's grin slipped away.

"Isn't that all a mother does anyway?" Nibs asked tentatively. "Look after children?"

"Feed them?" the twins piped up.

"Tell stories?"

Amelia's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Peter felt a faint unease, but pushed it off. He was being silly. Why should he get so upset on the subject of mothers?

"No, of course not! A mother does more than just that," Amelia said, with a faint hope that the boys would suddenly say 'oh, yes, I remember now.' She blinked a few times, then her face became shadowed with realisation at her own thought. "Don't… don't any of you remember having mothers of your own?"

Each and every one of the boys slowly shook their heads. Amelia's face fell.

"Everyone," barked Peter, feeling angry but not sure why. "Let her do as she wishes. Hurry up and eat! We have lots to do today." He was halfway through the door already.

The chairs wobbled and the joints of the furniture rattled with the explosive, excited cheering that followed, mindlessly happy that they had someone to look after them. So explosive that within seconds an angry orb of light zipped from behind a pair of pink curtains and began to drag Amelia outside by her hair.

"Tink, Tink!" Peter called, bemused, "what are you doing?"

The angry reply was drowned out by Amelia's infuriated yelling, followed by a swift thump and a groan. Everyone hurried outside. Peter couldn't help a titter. Amelia got up from the base of the tree, holding her head, and glared at where the fairy was jumping about, blowing raspberries. Just as Peter floated forward to either separate the girls or join in (both were ideas at that moment), Amelia grabbed the two-inch-tall creature and threw her. Tinkerbell's tiny scream became a whistle as she went straight through the upper window of the tree.

"Yeah!" Amelia cheered.

"She's inside the lantern, Peter!" came the muffled admiration of Curly. "Good aim!"

Peter raised his head defiantly, and went to see for himself. Extraordinarily, Tinkerbell was now trapped inside the glass lantern and was banging against it indignantly with tiny fists. As he came back out with the other boy, he landed on the ground next to Amelia, whose beatific grin made him feel oddly nostalgic.

"Follow me. And you, boys."

-

If I had ever thought I'd seen anything beautiful in London, it quickly faded into irrelevance with the enchanting ambience of Neverland. Nothing my mother had ever told me could ever have prepared me for it. All around was the sound of the water, whether the gentle drip of dew from the overtop leaves or the distant gush of the waterfall by the lagoon- Mermaid Lagoon! Every now and again, the tiniest flashes of light would have the boys whispering, "a fairy! A fairy!" as though they'd never seen one before. I savoured the warmth of the air and the feel of grass and moss beneath my feet, a carpet of natural beauty. Sometimes a flower would open as we passed, as if looking to see who was there, but quickly closed again once we had gone by and moved on to see the next wonder.

Exotic birds of various colours leapt between the branches of the canopy, calling sweetly to one another with crows and twitters and tweets that Peter mimicked perfectly, stating all the while how clever he was at being able to do so. I could sense all of the boys regularly looking at me, as though seeking approval. It was both flattering and unnerving; I found myself smiling back nevertheless.

"Come on, boys. Let's go see what Hook's up to," Peter said, rising up into a stream of light while the rest of us were blinded. The Lost Boys looked at one another, confused.

"We can't, Peter. Tink hasn't dusted us up yet," a pair of twins said in unison- from what I had been told, could only be Binky and Marmaduke. But could they really? Something felt wrong. The diary popped into my still aching head without warning. '_I can't write about them here, or there. The words don't go down. It's too vivid. I can only write about my feelings.'_

Adventures too vivid to write down… passed down from Jane to mother to me… My chest began to ache.

"Then what did you follow me for?" Peter demanded to know.

"You told us to," a caramel-haired boy put in, squinting. "You said we should all follow you."

Peter made a face, then scratched his head.

"Well… can't be helped, I suppose…" He took a last fleeting glance over the canopy and came to rest on the forest floor. The Lost Boys sat down. I remained standing. Peter glanced at me, and after realising that I wasn't going to sit down, started speaking. "So… Slightly, what are we going to do?" Peter shot at a pale boy, who jumped in response.

"Oh." He looked at me, then at the same caramel-haired boy as before, who was nudging him and giving. Whispering. "Nibs says Amelia is covered in fairy dust."

Peter's feet left the ground. Upon inspecting my hair, he smiled exuberantly at me, showing a perfect set of white teeth.

"You're covered in it!" he exclaimed, touching my shoulder and showing me what looked like very fine golden powder.

"That means that we can go and play!" he took my hand. "Think-"

"Happy thoughts," I interrupted, a returning smile spreading across my face as my eyes met ones of blue. It took but a second for my body to begin rising, as though filled with hot air. The sensation was both exhilarant and unnerving, like feeling yourself freeze in the height of a jump, only to find yourself continuing upwards.

"Peter, what are we..." a voice that called up to us swiftly became inaudible. One hundred, two hundred feet… the Lost Boys gradually became specks, until even the clouds were below us. Upon landing on one of pale blue, my stomach finally managed a lurch. We had now officially defied the law of gravity. I felt a bubble inside, and consequently did a back flip onto the puffy layer of white on which Peter was standing. Due to the thick consistency of the cloud, I sank in a few inches, before standing as steadily as if it were the ground.

"It's kind of like putting on a really fluffy pair of slippers," I marvelled, pulling one foot out and sinking it back in again.

"Yes, of course!" Peter agreed. There was a pause where he pulled some of the cloud out and rolled it into a ball. "What's a slipper?"

I started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" He backed off of the cloud, offended.

"Oh, nothing. There's just so much you don't know," I wiped a tear from my eyes and smiled. We hopped across clouds for a while, and Peter showed the various parts of Neverland to me, which were laid out before my eyes like a vividly three-dimensional map.

"That's the Mermaid Lagoon and the waterfall," Peter said, pointing to the left side of the island, where a crystal-clear pool surrounded by pale pink rock glimmered like a jewel in the sun. I could see the foaming white of the crashing waterfall. It fed down from the huge mountain on the north side of the island, and a few thinner streams that looked like glittering lines fed down in various places into the forest. "The Indian camp slightly above ground level, over there," he motioned to the right side, where a faint line of smoke trickled up through a clearing. The camp was set below a mountain much larger than the one at the lagoon; it was so high that its summit was covered in snow. There was a jagged mountain range connecting the smaller and larger mountain, but it was blurred from distance and was hard to make out if anything might lie on it. Peter went through the other aspects of the island like a list, though once my eyes caught sight of the harsh, deep angles of the ship in the shadow of the mountain my eyes did not change focus. Peter noticed my stare and grew quiet. When I looked up again, the expression on his face shocked me.

"You must promise me, Amelia," he said abruptly, feeling my gaze. His eyes met mine, the calm azure gone. "Hook is mine to kill." The silence hung there, until he shook himself out of dark thoughts and smiled reverently again. His eyes still hadn't returned to being carelessly bright. He flew ahead, telling me about the great, winding catacombs of Treasure Cove, though not with the same enthusiasm as before. I was so wrapped up in the previous look on his face that I didn't see Peter draw his dagger in response to a shadow falling over us. I'd just moved to peer around when my view zoned out, and all I saw was bright azure. The terror of blindness gripped me first, but then shock overruled it- a voice spoke, not from beside me, but as if it were from inside my mind itself.  
_"Boy, why are you crying?"_

"Ouch!" Peter exclaimed through the extraordinary blueness. As quickly as it had come, the sensation washed away like paint under a water spray just in time to see Peter raising a large dagger to a huge and beautiful white bird.

"No, Peter!" I shouted, at the same time noticing his other hand clamped to the dagger-holding arm. A small trickle of red leaked between his fingers. The dagger stopped mid-slash and I glimpsed a flash of surprise at the interruption. When the white bird opened its beak, I realised with a sickening apprehension what a mistake I'd made. Razor-sharp teeth protruded from its mouth. It glared at Peter with yellow, slit-like eyes.

"No!" I screamed, leaping towards the creature, grabbing its beak and forcing it shut. A strangled half-cry crackled in its throat. Somehow I ended up on its back. Immediately it dove downwards, streaking through the tallest branches. This wasn't like flying with Peter. The bird's enormous wings beat uncomfortably under my knees and air rushed into my lungs at a speed too fast to inhale, making me gag and my eyes water. Like a pebble dropped from a cliff, we hurtled towards the ground. I needed to jump off, but what would happen if I fell? Would I be able to summon happy thoughts while falling? How long would I have before I hit the ground? The bird, as though sensing my hesitation, sharply curved and tilted on an upward incline. With a shrieking, gurgling cackle, it looped and I felt my fingers slipping on its oily feathers. With a familiar, loving and somehow lost face as my driving force, I finally let go.

The pounding of my heart drowned out the shadows of sunshine and smiles in my head. I didn't want to die. A tear didn't have time to roll down my face; it left without so much as a comforting kiss on my cheek. Distance divided by speed equals time- how long until I hit the ground? Maybe there was only a hundred metres left- my eyes were shut, I couldn't tell-

"Ha-" My breath left me instantly on impact with what felt like two metal bars. I spluttered and gasped, struggling in spite of myself. The atmosphere had changed before I noticed that we were no longer outside. The air that was still causing my ears to ring was now warm and smoky, filled with the scent of leather and mysterious incense. I could hear the crackling of an open fire nearby. A deep, exotic voice said something, and I heard a stronger crackling sound -more wood- from which a further rush of comforting heat emanated. The haggard gasps began to dissipate, and my clammy, clenched fists slowly released, before being taken into the cool, papery enclosure of another. The person's form wavered after having my eyes squeezed so tightly shut, but soon I could see that it was an ancient, copper-skinned woman leaning over me with a kind smile. Her eyes and mouth were surrounded by deep, kind lines, while the long braid curled at her shoulders was almost completely silver.

Behind her I could see the flames of a large fire. The smoke that came from it went way up, into the top of the tent that ended in a point- a Native American teepee? It took a few more deep breaths before I remembered.

"Oh, of course" I murmured to myself, trying to stand and collapsing again on legs that had turned into rubber.

"Greetings, papoose," the woman said, in a voice both hoarse and wise, and tinged with that strange language that had been spoken before. "We have been expecting you." It was now that I noticed a congregation of at least fifty others, all seated around the fire. My eyes roamed the room, taking in all the strange and wonderful painted faces.

"Who are you?" I asked the ancient old woman, whose face crinkled up in a smile.

"I am Chief Tiger Lily of the Xenoi tribe. Welcome."

"Tiger Lily?" I repeated. "_Tiger Lily?" _Some of the closer spectators smirked. Tiger Lily also smiled- a smile that calmed my agitation.

"Perhaps, papoose, but that was long ago. Now I am older than all these here," she motioned widely to her people. "We have been waiting."

"Waiting?" I stared at her crinkled smile, before it clicked. "For me?"

The ancient chief's smile grew wider still. Tiger Lily stood, and turned to the gathering, speaking steadily in her own fluent tongue, before motioning to a young woman, perhaps a few years older than myself, to help me to stand.

"I don't understand," I said slowly, confused more than anything.

"Legend says the fair one will fall from monstrous white beast on this specific hour," Tiger Lily answered. "There is something we are meant to show you now."

"But…" I swallowed hard. "But… " I wasn't even sure what I wanted to say. I'd only just _got _to Neverland- and I wasn't even sure how I'd done that. How could I be _supposed _to be here? Tiger Lily, glanced at me, and in a strange light from the fire she looked like the image in my imagination of the Indian Princess Tiger Lily, daughter of the chief. A question arose in my mind, but my mouth would not open.

Carefully, she took a deep green powder from a pouch hanging around her neck and threw it onto the fire, chanting something foreign and making slow, measured movements with her hands.

"This is your destiny."

I couldn't look away.

Around her wrinkled limbs formed a sphere; dark blue and lightening, until it became as bright as the sky on a summer's day. Tendrils began to come off it, then slowly it started to break into two clearly defined pieces. The pieces turned black and became smoky around the edges, and for a moment I cringed away from the wispy, ghostly tendrils as they reached for me. The smoke solidified suddenly, sucking in to form two smooth spheres that began to glow. The light strengthened into a blinding glare around which the remaining black wisps scratched and faded; just as it became too bright to look at, the spheres joined again and glowed a beautiful gold, which rose like the sun and vanished through the top of the teepee. As the light faded, one woman stood and fainted, and had to be carried out by the man sitting adjacent to her.

"That is all, papoose," said Tiger Lily. She looked ever so weak all of a sudden, as though the imagery had sapped all of her energy. "Its message is for you to solve."

I couldn't speak, and Tiger Lily settled for patting my hand before standing and shuffling slowly towards the opposite side of the tent.

"…. Wait," I finally managed. "How do you know that it was me meant to be here?"

Another crinkled smile.  
"We learn much from observing nature. 'Fair one' does not only mean your hair, papoose," Tiger Lily said patiently. "How many of _your _kind do you see on this island? You have a gift, child. All you need to do is find it."

I could only stare at her, mouth open.

"If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to come see us again," Tiger Lily said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. Another young woman came to help support her, and I was almost certain she had a tear in her eye. At that very moment Peter's voice came into hearing distance. I gave my gratitude before bowing out of the tent and going to the edge of the forest. To my utter surprise, the sun was already beginning to set. Had Peter and I really been out for so long? My stomach grumbled loudly. I took one more step and found myself face to face with the blonde-haired boy.

"Amelia!" Peter exclaimed, his anxious face breaking into a relieved smile as he dropped to the ground. "I was calling for you. Didn't you hear me?"

I shook my head apologetically, explaining everything except the incident with the fire.

"Well, that's an adventure," Peter said, seemingly baffled by my luck. "You'll have to tell the boys all about that when we get back."

"Sure. I can do that," I nodded. Peter then seemed to realise he was walking and kicked off into the air, pulling me with him.

"Next time, don't tell me what to do," he asserted, giving me a stern look. I felt a flash of guilt and looked away.

"I won't again unless you're about to do something very, very stupid," I reasoned.

"Hey!" he complained, but I pulled away, smiling and following the distant clamour that was the Lost Boys. I picked up speed and flying higher, higher. Then, from across the bay, I heard a loud and definitely grown-up voice, furiously bellowing: _"Peter Pan!" _

The shock of it made me lose concentration. Before I could fall into the canopy, Peter half caught me and half pushed me. We careered through the trees, crashing into a bed of leaves, rolling once, twice, to find his elbow digging into my chest. "Ouch, Peter, get off!" I groaned, wincing. He was looking at me strangely. Raising a finger to his mouth, he listened intently. His mouth widened into a mischievous grin and his eyes twinkled. Unless I was much mistaken, they contained a hint of green. I felt my face begin to burn. "Peter, get off," I repeated, with less conviction than before.

He did so, but only because he was rolling about laughing. "How funny it would be to see his face!" he managed, before collapsing into fits again.

"Who?" I enquired, soon chuckling myself. His laugh was as infectious as it was merry, like music. Such a cheerful laugh could warm a grumpy classroom any day.

"Hook. I'll explain when we get back to the home-tree," Peter finally spoke, his eyes that lovely, light blue again. He might have said that, but I knew that it was not his personality to be consistent. Nevertheless, I let him take my hand and pull me up. "Come on, let's go home and have dinner."

And we did exactly that.

–

**I guess you could consider this a mixed-media piece of novel, animation and live-action movie. Hopefully it does the novel justice in particular, though -_-**

**I'm a big fan of using metaphors, so be sure to review and maybe you'll understand… wait, what? : o**

**~chellybaby xo**

_**P.s. Papoose = child, for reference. :)**_


	6. Red, Blue and Emerald Green

**Hey everyone. Long time no see. I'm sorry ^_^ But here the chapter is, and the next is already written. Reviews please! :)**

–

_-Red, Blue and Emerald-_

It was around sunset, and Captain Hook had been absent since the night before. The pirate crew were all enjoying their freedom- it was not a rare occasion when the Captain left for a solitary quest, but neither was it something that happened very often. The crew were making the most of the lack of order; drunken brawls were multiple below deck. As a flailing fist made contact with another pirate's nose, others laughed as the blood sprayed in all directions. A bottle of rum promptly smashed over the other pirate's head, and a sliver of glass embedded itself in his cheek. It would have been a fight to the death, had a familiar voice not interfered.

"Smee," it said.

It was low and almost inaudible through the clamour below the deck. However, as soon as the gravelly voice reached the ears of those closest to the trapdoor, silence fell. The short, ruddy-faced man named Smee glimpsed the faces of his fellow pirates, who had all frozen. They knew who it was. If Captain Hook wasn't shouting, it could only mean one thing. He was very, very angry. Edging his reluctant toes from his bunk, Smee pushed past the men sitting on the floor with their dice and pushed open the trapdoor. He came face-to-face with a pair of highly polished boots, fastened at the edges with golden buckles. These were in his line of sight for the barest moment, before he found himself being dragged by the neck to face the side of the ship.

"What do you see, Smee. What do you see?" The Captain asked, almost pleasantly. Smee couldn't see clearly after the brightness below. He squinted.

"I see the word 'Hook', Captain, sir," Smee responded. "I must say, sir, that it's a fantastic idea. Now it can't get lost anywhere, sir-"

"Shut up, you blithering idiot!" Hook snapped, pushing Smee into the wooden balustrade. "Go see if any of them are still here. Go!" He turned his piercing gaze to the trapdoor again. "Is there anyone with half a brain down there willing to come and speak with your captain?"

There was a groan from the ship as twenty-five men, some still bleeding, scrambled up to the deck, where they obediently faced the wooden panelling. It took a moment for them to see the letters. Only half of them could read, but when the ones that couldn't saw the faces of the ones who could, they went white.

"Captain!" Smee's voice yelled in a strangled voice. He skidded around the side of the cabin, his face the colour of blackcurrants. "The outside of the ship… all of it- all of it is _pink,_ Captain! And covered in pictures of us in… in _dresses, _sir!" He hopped agitatedly from foot to foot. The whole ship was indeed pink- a startling, brilliant fuchsia, with patches of pale pink and purple mixed in. Smee realised that the crew were not listening- they were transfixed by the front section; the section that held the entrance to Hook's cabin. He turned to see what he had missed the first time, and gasped. This section was the same brilliant fuchsia as the sides, but with no purple or pale pink- one could only guess who had demanded their work to be perfectly smooth. Even the cabin door was pink. Painted smoothly in vibrant green, curling script were the words:

**HOOK IS A COWARDLY CODFISH.**

** SIGNED, PETER PAN.**

If this wasn't bad enough, nailed above the door to Hook's cabin was a dead fish, wearing one of his elegant hats. Hook's deep-set eyes burned.

"_How _could you _let _that insolent brat aboard this ship? _How _did you miss this, you stupid fools!" He grabbed the closest drunken pirate and threw him overboard, just to emphasize his fury. The crew said nothing. Hook swelled with anger, then deflated just as quickly.

"Let us deal with this later. My quest has been successful."

The other pirates now chanced looking up. Hook had brought a seething orange, bulbous root of some sort from his scarlet coat. He was met with many nonplussed stares. Sighing at their idiocy, he grabbed another pirate, broke off a small piece of the bulb and ordered the man to eat it. Trembling, he popped it in his mouth and slowly chewed. His eyebrows shot up.

"My, Captain, this is really deli-" his eyes rolled back into his head. There was a clatter of weapons as he fell awkwardly to the floor, limp.

"Captain, you've tried this plan before," Smee put in cheerfully. "Poison is impossible when we can't find Peter Pan. We don't even know where he and those boys live."

Hook rolled his eyes. Of course he knew. Ever since that almost-successful kidnap of the Lost Boys long ago, they'd never found the dratted tree again.

"Not poison, you idiot. It's a powerful tranquiliser." A grin slipped onto his face, and Smee shuddered. "I have a plan. Dixon," he called suddenly, and a wiry man with numerous scars stepped forward. "Take five men and scour the land for supplies. We set sail tomorrow. This is only one ingredient on my list of certain death…" he laughed a cold laugh, and opened his cabin door, forgetting the fish nailed above it. Immediately, a stench flowed out onto the deck. The crew cringed. There was a loud crash and Hook emerged, taking the door with him. With eyes blazing, he roared- to the Lost Boys, to Neverland, to whatever lay beyond-

"_Peter Pan!"_

_-_

"Then I kind of grabbed its neck like this," I motioned, gripping the air in front of me. The Lost Boys were watching with wide eyes, while Peter just continued to smile that mischievous grin from before. "We were flying- but it was horrible. It nearly threw me off, and all I could do was hold on while it dove down. We nearly hit the forest floor!" I exclaimed, remembering the feeling of my stomach turning before we shot up to the sky again. One child gasped. "Then we got higher and higher and I had to shut my eyes. It was horrible, because the feathers were all slippery, and I was trying so hard not to let go. I couldn't think of any happy thoughts because I was so scared. I fell, though I'm not sure how high it was from..." I shivered, and a little boy with green eyes and golden hair hugged me. Tinkerbell just floated above, blatantly ignoring me. I couldn't complain.

"You're alright, Amelia?" the boy said, frightened by my experience. They had probably never experienced flying past the type they were used to, and the knowledge of it being able to hold such dangers had terrified them. I pulled him into my lap; in my peripheral vision Peter twitched.

"Yes, I'm fine now. The Indians caught me when I fell and I… I met chief Tiger Lily. Peter, why did she get old?" I added. He tensed as all eyes turned to him.

"Because _they_ want to grow up," he said eventually, though he said it with a tone is his voice that meant the subject was closed. I nodded, and didn't press him to elaborate. I looked around at the seven children and Peter, wondering how I was going to look after them all. Surely they were better at surviving in these kind of circumstances than me? I was used to being cared for, not the carer. The only experience I'd had caring for children had been weekend babysitting for a friend of my mother's. There weren't seven –eight-children there. I swallowed hard and took a breath. "So what are all of your names?"

The boys were instantly to their feet, where they lined up in height order (apart from Peter, who stood at the farthest end regardless).

"My name's Cubby," the smallest boy said. He was the one who had hurt his head this morning. With a shock of black hair, almost-black eyes and his furry outfit, he was almost a little cub- though I'm sure a cub wouldn't be so clumsy. His face was still very round, even for his age, which couldn't have been more than eight. "I like singing. And eating strawberries," he added with a hopeful tone to his voice. I nodded, smiling, and stepped sideways. Next was the beautiful child who had just sat on my lap.

"Nibs," he said shyly, holding out his hand, which I shook good-naturedly. "It's very nice to meet you Amelia." How many eight-year-olds shook hands nowadays? Big green eyes, rosy cheeks and hair the colour of milky toffee made him look something akin to a cherub. I nodded and went on. The twins were next- identical in every visual way. They both had strawberry-blonde hair, freckles, grey-blue eyes and gleaming grins that appeared at the exact same time.

"Marmaduke and Binky, Miss Amelia," they said confidently and in unison, bowing in a way which made the other boys chuckle. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss."

"Thank you," I said, struggling not to laugh. "Lose the 'Miss', though. Which of you is which?"

Their faces settled into identical, evil grins.

"We won't tell!" they said, perfectly in synch. I raised my eyebrows, grinning myself now. I moved along.

"Tootles," the next boy said. He was the same height as the twins; this, with the contrast of the seriousness in his voice, surprised me. He had chestnut brown hair and light brown eyes, with a button nose that looked odd with his wary expression. His smile was minimal- nervous, perhaps? "It's lovely to make your acquaintance."

I knew all of these names, but somehow they didn't stick to the personalities or appearances I had programmed in my imaginations from all the stories I had been told. I shook the feeling off and moved on. Peter was shifting impatiently at the end of the line. I kept the smile to myself and faced the next boy. He was only an inch or two shorter than myself- eleven or twelve? He was the only boy who was not deeply tanned. His skin was the paler sort that did not go much darker than a peachy colour. This contrasted oddly with his dark brown curls, while his eyes were deep blue. For a moment he seemed to be away with his thoughts. It felt like I could see the ideas swirling about in his head. But then he noticed me watching him intently, and his cheeks turned pink.

"Oh, s-sorry. I'm Slightly," he mumbled, looking away. "It's nice to meet you."

Peter was definitely becoming impatient now. I could see an inch of space between the floor and his feet.

"You must be Curly," I deducted. The last Lost Boy had tight, red curls and brown eyes, though there was no sign of freckles. He was very nearly a teenager, though it would not suit him, as he was too thin and already too gangly for it to help him in any way. I guessed that he was thirteen. I was beginning to realise a pattern in their ages. They went up from the brink of childhood to the brink of adolescence. That must mean that Peter was thirteen, at the very least- perhaps nearly fourteen.

"Yep, that's me," Curly grinned. His tanned skin made his hair stand out like a flame. With a nod and returning smile, I moved on to Peter.

It was only now that I noticed the true difference between him and the others. Though Curly was taller, Peter was definitely older. That fact was inescapable, though it would not do to tell him that. It was unnerving that this was the same boy that Wendy had fallen in love with, and the same boy that Jane had fought with. He looked only slightly younger than the boys in my class at school. His voice was husky, but not low. His shoulders weren't broad enough to be a teenager's, yet. Did he even realise? This was the Boy Who Would Never Grow Up- did he not realise how close he was to adolescence? I had always imagined him to be younger- years younger. Wendy had been eleven years old, and it had been the early 20th century. Had he not changed one little bit? How old was he, really? And why did the Indians get older, and he didn't? There was something more to this that I couldn't fit in- a part of the puzzle of Peter Pan and Neverland that didn't make sense. Would I ever know what it was?

"_Even the sound of it offends me!"_

I jumped.

"Amelia? Are you alright?" I heard Peter murmur. My sight cleared and met those bright blues of his.

"Did you just say something?" I asked, frowning.

"Yes, I asked you if you were alright," he replied slowly, peering at me. A shiver ran down my spine. What were these strange voices in my head? They sounded so familiar. Yet at the same time so far away. Peter's hand felt too warm on my shoulder, and Tinkerbell was glaring daggers at me. I gently shrugged it off, and forced a smile to cover my deep unease, moving up the line, and swiftly taking a step back in alarm. Yellow-green eyes, at first fixed on me, switched to Peter.

"Peter Pan, I request that you put down your weapon immediately," the girl said calmly to the point of Peter's dagger, which was barely an inch from her face. Upon seeing who it was, he groaned quietly and withdrew the weapon.

"What do _you _want, Emerald Eyes?" he barked.

"Peter!" I scolded. "You don't speak to visitors that way!" Though she hadn't given any notice that she had entered the tree, which was rude in itself. Peter had the grace to look ashamed and flew to his throne at the head of the dinner table.

"Hello," I said, turning to the newcomer, who looked as surprised as I did when I realised that we were both girls.

"You're-" we both started. _Jinx, _I thought. The girl named Emerald Eyes looked around my age, if not a little older. The russet of her skin matched the shade I had seen in the tribal teepee, though her eyes were a vibrant and unsettling lime green.

"You must be the Fair One the elders spoke of," Emerald Eyes said seriously, gazing at me with those strange eyes. "I felt drawn to this place. It must have been because of your presence."

I couldn't think of an adequate supply, so I settled for a simple "thank you."

"Your welcome," was her steady reply.

The girl named Emerald Eyes was very beautiful, and that was unnerving without the addition of the unblinking stare. Her hair was black and shiny, pushed in a deep side part and threaded through with tiny braids and purple beads. Her dress was composed entirely of tan hide, stitched meticulously with what looked like leather strips. I suddenly felt very conscious of my too-short nightdress and messy blonde curls. Cursorily I smoothed the white cotton down.

"You arrived here yesterday," Emerald Eyes said, more as a statement than a question.

I nodded anyway.

"Please accept this as a greetings present."

She handed me a small leather pouch, drawn together with a strip twisted grass.

"I wasn't expecting a present," I admitted, scrutinising the little bag closely. I wasn't set to open it, but she continued to watch me. I pulled the top apart, and into my hand fell a shiny red rock. Disappointment threatened to make my face falter. However, I'd always been taught to accept all presents graciously, so I plastered a smile on my face and thanked her. She seemed nice enough; there was no reason to come to a disagreement over… a rock. After all, the Indian tribe was nothing like I'd ever seen before- I knew already by experience. No reason to get offended. I tucked the rock into my bra.

The corners of the girl's lips lifted in a smile. Peter just looked nonplussed.

"So you know who ever to ask for, I am the daughter of the Xenoi witchdoctor. Feel free to visit any time."

I wasn't sure I felt warm enough towards her to be on visiting terms, but her offer sounded sincere.

"Thank you for your kindness." I repeated the words of gratitude by force of habit. Still, Emerald Eyes studied my face. The sensation that I was under a microscope intensified.

"What?" I questioned, the slightest note of exasperation escaping me now. The response I received was so unexpected that I was speechless.

"You're very beautiful, Fair One."

For some reason, my first action after this comment was to look at Peter, but he was already shoving Emerald Eyes out of the tree. She offered no resistance.

"I will be back soon," she called pleasantly, as Peter came back inside, muttering to himself. At some point during the course of the conversation the Lost Boys had gone outside. The room was now empty except for Peter and I, which he was quick to challenge. The tan skin of his face was tinged pink.

"Lost Boys!" He called, flying to the top of the tree and leaning out over the large hole in the top, somewhere above the door. Irritation tainted his previously smooth voice, but I'd just heard his stomach grumble angrily.

Shame washed over me when I realised all of them mustn't have eaten all day. What a brilliant carer I was being. "Lost Boys!" He shouted again, louder this time.

"What's wrong, Peter?" I asked. He gave me an intense stare and my heart jolted in my chest.

"I don't really know," he finally answered, with a fearful expression. "You remind me of someone." I was going to ask him to elaborate, but there was a faint pattering of footsteps that caught his attention first. A cloud of dust rose as three boys skidded into the doorway, then a curse as the remaining four crashed into them as they did the same.

"Don't run inside," I scolded, as a familiar cry of pain from the smallest of the group rose from beneath the curtain.

Soon there were seven again, panting and holding assorted handfuls of fruit and vegetables and other strange roots of questionable origin. Tootles was holding a bow and arrow, and what looked like a very big, dead purple chicken.  
"Get on dinner," Peter suggested hopefully, before taking the dead chicken-type creature and a knife from the wooden counter and flying outside. I watched as the boys put all of their finds onto the table and looked at me expectantly.

"Interesting," I said, though this was an understatement. All of the vegetables and fruit they had collected were ridiculously large, and in various colours to what I would call 'normal'. One tomato was as big as my fists put together. Peter's words finally clicked as the boys stared at me.

"Me? I have to cook?"

The boys had made dinner the previous day, so I hadn't had a chance to get used to the 'kitchen'.

"Obviously," Peter shouted from outside. He poked his head in from the doorway. "You do know how to cook, don't you?"

I thought about it. Yes, I suppose I did, but not in a situation like this before- and the ingredients at hand! I'd never seen anything like it. How Grandma Wendy had dealt with this every day, I had no idea whatsoever.

"Well… yeah, I suppose so..."

"Then there's no problem." His eyes gleamed. I thought about it, then set my jaw in determination.

"Right."

I approached this small but varied bountiful collection, and panicked as they wondered aloud what I was going to make.

That was easier said than done. What could I make out of only vegetables and chicken? I tried to remember meals that mother had made, but most of these involved an oven- I only had a very large pot over an open fire. I caught sight of a pile of bread in the corner, and briefly wondered where it had come from, before inspiration hit me. I took most of the tomatoes, some carrots, onions, a tiny bulb of something that, upon further inspection, was definitely garlic, and then picked up some of the roots. A few rearrangements and a discovery of salt later, I had everything I needed to make chicken (or whatever it was) in spiced tomato sauce with vegetables. Perfect.

An hour later, the Lost Boys and Peter were all seated at the table, sniffing the air appreciatively while I carried the pot to the table. There was no ladle, so I had to use one of the spare bowls very carefully. It was difficult, but eventually all of the boys had food in front of them, with a small bread bun on the side.

"Amelia, here," Peter called, as I motioned to sit down on the stool at the opposite end of the table. Tinkerbell glared at me, but I was too hungry to argue. I got up and plonked myself down in the one on his right side, taking my bowl with me. "Let's all say thank you to Amelia for cooking for us today," Peter said, looking down at me with a smile that warmed my insides. I wished for once that Tinkerbell would stop floating in the background, being mean every time Peter spoke to me. What had I done to _her?_

"The best way of saying thank you would be just to eat it," I said, and dug my spoon into the bowl without further ado. I heard Peter chuckle and a tiny piece of bread hit the back of my head. Tinkerbell.

"Thsh sh mmm!" Cubby mumbled, red sauce dripping down the sides of his mouth. He looked like a little wolf cub. I had to say, I heartily agreed. I finished before everyone else, and it took me a moment to realise that I was staring absently at Peter. Both of us were unaware of this for quite a long time, but as he was dipping his bread in the leftover sauce he looked up.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh." I shook myself mentally and found that I was smiling.

"'Oh'? What does that mean? You say it a lot."

"Nothing. Nothing at all," I said, and got up to serve the strawberries.

–

**I loved writing this chapter. It's been in my head for such a long time... it was nice to get it typed out (finally). I think Emerald Eyes is weird. Hence why it's so easy to imagine her reactions... ahem. **

**Lots of love and grammatical corrections,**

**~chellybaby xoxo**


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